


in the beginning, god created heaven and earth

by nanasekei



Series: Genesis [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, No Cult Ending, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Romance, bottom robert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 13:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12558652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: He was, first and foremost, a believer.





	in the beginning, god created heaven and earth

**I. your body is the one paradise that I wanna fly to**

 

He was, first and foremost, a believer.

He knew a lot of ministers who struggled with their faith, and it was a constant topic among the Youths at their bible meetings. For Joseph, though, it was never a question. Even in his rebellious years, when he was trying to pretend the minister life wasn’t his inevitable future, he never doubted the existence of God. It wasn’t really something he could put in words. It just made sense, in his head. It was just part of the natural order of things to feel like there was someone _there_ , watching over him, with him in his hardest times. He believed in God as he believed the sun would rise in the morning.

He was not intolerant of doubts, though. Especially with the Youths, it was important to keep an open mind, to try his best to listen to their anguishes and guide them towards a better path. His willingness to listen to other opinions without judgement while also being as faithful as a man could be was what made him good at his job, Joseph knew. He could be approachable and still give a chilling sermon if it was needed. He had a variety of topics always ready, but plain and simple faith was one of his favorites. It was when he really felt his preaching talent come through – it wasn’t rare to see people wiping away a few tears at the end of his sermons, and honestly, he understood why. There was nothing more beautiful than believing and _feeling_ that unconditional love only God was capable of.

When he was younger, he doubted many things about his life and his future, but God was never one of them. He liked that, that certainness. He wasn’t sure he would ever find it anywhere else.

 

* * *

 

He knew anchors were a huge cliché. Still, he liked them. They reminded him of the smell of the sea, of salty water in his mouth and wind on his face. Most importantly, at twenty-one years old, honestly, he thought they looked cool. And it was such a beautiful day, and he had some money left, and his dad kept calling him over and over again and Joseph knew he couldn’t ignore his calls forever. He knew that minister school think kindly of tattoos, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe they’d end up refusing him, maybe they would need time to think, maybe during this time he could take a deep breath and sit down with dad and try to _talk_ to him for once. He could tell him about the water and the wind. About the tattoo guy’s brown eyes and how he had the most gorgeous smile Joseph had ever seen. Maybe his dad would understand.

The needle on his skin hurt, but it didn’t burn half as much as the guy’s fingers touching his shoulder. His face flush, his heart raced and he had to fight the impulse to close his eyes and just feel his fingers tracing the drawing on his naked skin.

Maybe his dad would understand, he thought. Maybe God would. At twenty-one years old, he was naïve enough to believe that.

 

* * *

 

He turned the valve on the sprinkler too far. The water came in strong jets, falling all over his shirt.

“Damn it!” Joseph rushed to turn it off, but the valve didn’t move at first. For a ridiculous moment, he thought he might have broken the sprinkler on the first time he was using it, but after a few seconds of struggle, the valve turned.

It hadn’t wet just his lawn, Joseph noticed, with a quick glance to their next neighbor’s grass. Marilyn wasn’t there, but her husband was sitting at the door entrance, staring at him with a somber expression. Joseph wondered what his problem was. Then, he noticed the sprinkles of water on one side of the guy’s jacket.

“Oh, my, I’m so sorry-“ Joseph stopped abruptly, his mind desperately searching for the guy’s name. He had a few conversations with Marilyn at the bake sale of last week, welcoming the new family on the neighborhood, and he was pretty sure she had introduced her husband, but the man was clearly not a talkative type, so Joseph hadn’t payed him much attention. Between everyone he met at the church and the residents of the cul-de-sac and their families, it was hard to keep track of everyone’s name.

“’s okay.” What’s-his-name said, in a low, raspy voice. He took his jacket off to wipe away the excess water, and Joseph stood up, walking towards his yard, determined to make up for his own embarrassment.

“Really, I can’t apologize enough” He said, his voice falling into his usual cheerful tone. He couldn’t help it. Some people charmed others with their natural charisma and kindness, Joseph did it with his perfect neighbor performance. It hadn’t failed him in years, and if he could only remember the guy’s name, he’d get him out of there with a plate of brownies and no memory of a faulty sprinkler in no time. It was something with an R – Richard? Roger? “You, hm, you know how these lawn things are.” He gestured aimlessly, smiling.

The guy’s face was unreadable. “I don’t.” He said, focusing on his jacket again. His fingers touched the wet sleeve, as if checking the damage, and Joseph found himself noticing how callous his hands were. The guy wasn’t really a muscular type, and he was maybe a few inches shorter than Joseph, but he had strong hands, marked with a few tiny scars, as if he was used to dangerous work. He closed his fist around some of the jacket’s fabric, twisting it, and, really, they were… Great… Hands.

Watching it like an idiot, Joseph felt his mouth go dry. His neighbor caught his look, staring right back. Joseph couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like there a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“Oh, uh, really?” He blurted out, feeling ridiculous for how nervous he suddenly felt. They were just hands, Joseph reminded himself. And that was just a neighbor who wasn’t interested in his lawn care talk. Nothing to get flushed about. “I’m going to, you know, get back to…” He gestured aimlessly again. The guy’s dark eyes were staring at him intensely, and suddenly he couldn’t remember how to use his hands.

Joseph turned around, trying to get away from that conversation as soon as possible. To his horror, though, his feet was caught up on the sprinkler’s hose, pulling the valve and turning it on. “Oh, crap!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees to turn it off, ignoring the jets of water falling all over his face and shoulders.

One more time, he struggled with the valve. He definitely owned that lawn supplies store an angry email. “You need some help with that?” Something-With-An-R asked, with a distinct irony in his voice.

“No, thank you, I’ve got it” Joseph answered, annoyed, finally managing to twist the valve and turn the sprinkler off. A _very_ angry email, without a doubt. He turned towards his neighbor’s home. “Did I got you wet again? I’m so-“

“Sorry, yeah, I got it.” He said bluntly, rolling his eyes. “Do all ministers around here swear that much?”

Joseph raised his eyebrows. “What?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know” He continued, putting his hands on the pockets of his jacket. The stupid sprinkler clearly did not manage to get him twice, unlike Joseph, whose shirt was soaking wet. “In my book, “crap” and “damn” are just morning greetings, but I would have imagined a youth minister’s vocabulary to be a lot more… Refined.”

That was the longest sentence Joseph had ever heard the man speak, and it was making fun of him. Maybe a plate of brownies wouldn’t be able to fix it, after all. “The man upstairs has better things to do than to worry about my rude vocabulary towards faulty lawn care tools.” He said, twisting the bottom of his shirt to get rid of the excess water.

The guy smirked. He had such strong features even the smallest hint of a smile was enough to make his face seem a lot friendlier. “If you say so.”

Joseph ignored him, busy pulling at the pink fabric. The easiest option would be to just change it, but he had to coordinate a bible study meeting later, and he hadn’t done laundry that week yet, so he was almost sure that was his only clean shirt. He twisted his sleeves up to his shoulders, trying to get them at least damp.

“Oh!” The man exclaimed. Joseph stared at him confusedly. For a fraction of a second, he almost seemed embarrassed, but quickly composed himself. “Nice anchor.” He said, dark eyes looming over Joseph’s tattoo, looking at him in a way that made his cheeks feel hot.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He replied awkwardly. Then, without thinking, he added: “It was a stick and poke.”

The guy raised his eyebrows, unable to hide the impressed look on his face. “Really?” He crossed his arms, stepping forward to take a closer look. Joseph felt his face warm, in a strange, pleasant way he wasn’t used to. “I guess the man upstairs has better things to do than worry about that either, huh?”

He smiled. “You’re absolutely right… Hm…”

“Robert.” The guy cut his weird pause, mercifully. He was still looking at the tattoo.

“Ah, yes, that’s right. I’m bad with names sometimes” He said, smiling apologetically, but Robert shrugged. If he was in any offended, he hid it well.  “I’m Joseph.”

“I know.” His eyes turned to Joseph’s face, staring at him again. He smiled.

It was a sunny afternoon. Still, Joseph couldn’t help but think it was the brightest thing he’d seen all day.

He smiled back, unconsciously. His eyes met the other man’s dark gaze. Robert didn’t look away, and neither did he.

 

* * *

 

  
**II. every day and every night**

 

He spend one afternoon per week on his yatch. Sometimes the children came along, excitedly running through the lower deck and attempting to reach the water, looking for dolphins. Other times, Mary took them with her to see her parents, or just to go to the mall or the movies, and it was an unspoken truce between them not to contact each other for a couple hours. For Joseph, it was nice. There was nothing he enjoyed more than feeling the sea breeze on his face, almost tasting the salty water beneath his feet, staring at the horizon where the sky and the ocean seemed to meet.

He never went far, obviously. Mostly, he just took a small leap around the coast, his back turned away from the land, never looking at it but constantly aware of it’s presence. It was dangerous to go to the open sea, and he needed to be home by dinnertime anyways.

So he didn’t do much, really. He just enjoyed the feel of the sun on his skin and the ropes on his hands. The sea near Maple Bay was mostly calm, like everything else in the city, but he could still feel the waves moving the boat around, sometimes shaking it after one strong turn. Joseph loved it – it was on those moments that he felt like he wasn’t alone in the yatch, that there was a living presence in those waters beneath him, a powerful force capable of destroying the entire continent of land if it wanted to. God created man in His own image, Joseph knew, but personally, he could feel Him better in the sea. He’d look at the horizon and blue-green water and how the sky was just one different shade of blue and there was nothing that could convince him someone hadn’t worked really hard to create something that perfect.

Sometimes he thought about going a little further. To risk getting a little bit late for dinner – it wouldn’t be the end of the world, there was food in the fridge. To go to a point where there was no sight of the coast. See the whales swimming closer to the surface. On such a warm day he could take his shirt off, show the anchor mark in open light, without a single curious look or judgmental whisper. He could sip a Margarita and maybe take a dive. The whales wouldn’t mind.

It was dangerous to go to the open sea, Joseph knew, but if he was honest, his biggest fear was not being able to force himself to go back.

 

* * *

 

He prayed every night, before going to sleep. Most of the times, Mary wasn’t there. She rarely slept in their bed anymore, and never when he was still awake. He didn’t mind it, though – that was his moment to speak to God alone, without any audience. At church, during a sermon, it was his duty to make his words appeal to the community. At night, in his bed, he could bare his soul, whisper all he wanted to get out of his heart, and hope it would be enough for God to understand. 

So he prayed. He prayed for Mary and the kids. He prayed for everyone in their little cul-de-sac: For Brian to keep raising Daisy to be such a wonderfully smart woman; for Mat and Carmensita to find their inner peace about Rosa; for Hugo and his never-ending battle to reach out to Ernest; for Damien to continue to unabashedly enjoy his passions; for Craig to catch a break, sometimes, and for River to continue to grow up healthy.

He prayed for Robert a lot – usually way after all the other prayers, almost as an afterthought, because he was never sure how to put his pleas in words. He always started by praying to Marilyn’s soul, but when it came to him, his words got messier and nonsensical. Some of them were logical – he prayed for him to slow down his drinking, for Val to call home more. And then – messy. He prayed for the tears he saw at the funeral to never come back again. For the ghosts and spirits who could be around the cul-de-sac to show up sometimes, for him to have the hunt of his life. For his eyes and his voice and that smile he saw for the first time three years ago. For them to never go away, to never fade, to never get away from him.

(God never answered. He liked that, a little. He didn’t know if wanted to hear what He would have to say to him.)

Then he’d go to sleep. He could feel the smell of Mary’s perfume coming from the pillow next to his, and, very rarely, he could feel when the weight of her body fell onto the bed, drunk and clumsy but still very careful not to touch him. He could turn around and hug her or stand up and fetch her a glass of water and ask about her night, but he never did.

(He did pray for her. That had to count for something.)

 

* * *

 

A lot of the neighbors asked why he kept inviting him. Nobody from the cul-de-sac, of course –the dads were used to Robert’s anti-social ways. The people from the church, however, didn’t enjoy that random lonely guy walking around their barbecues and bake sales just to sulk in a corner, drinking whiskey and never talking to anyone. They knew they couldn’t raise such concerns around Mary, of course, because of her “Maryness”, as Edith put it once with a malicious laugh, so they went to him instead. “He seems to drink a lot”; “Where do you know him from, Joseph?”; and, sometimes, when a few of the Margaritas had already kicked in: “Is he single?”.

Joseph had an answer ready for all of those questions - “Would you like another burger?” was his favorite and most effective, along with “His house is right there, Helen”. If anyone cared to ask further, he had five different sermons in store about the importance of bringing people together and building a community regardless of differences. Love thy neighbor, even if said neighbor was an aloof alcoholic with a disturbing tendency towards dark humor. The church ladies could not approve of Robert’s ways, but they couldn’t argue with that.

Joseph had to admit they had a point, though. Nobody else in the neighborhood invited Robert for anything, mostly because he never bothered to show up. Still, he was in all of his barbecue parties, some of the bake sales, and even came to a few sermons, sometimes. To Joseph, it always felt great to see him arriving to any of those events – because his job was reaching out to people and Robert was hard to reach, of course. He tried to give attention to all of his guests, but he always made time for a moment to talk to Robert, to offer him an extra burger or brownie or introduce him to someone. The former was always easier than the latter, but Robert never stopped showing up, so he figured he didn’t actually mind it that much.

Maybe he enjoyed it, Joseph thought. Maybe it was the best part of his day, as much as it was his.

He didn’t think so, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was when he was there. His olive skin under the sun, the subtle way he nodded his head in Joseph’s direction when he said his name, the rare laugh that felt like a true prize to see. His unblinking stare, unsettling anyone who attempted to have a casual conversation with him. Robert had a special talent for making people uncomfortable. Joseph spend his life trying to make sure no one around him was as uncomfortable as he perpetually felt, so Robert’s posture should have offended him, but instead, he admired it. He couldn’t imagine being the person everyone wanted to avoid in social gatherings, let alone wearing it as a badge of pride. It was so different from anything he had ever seen: Robert was never a jerk, he just didn’t make any effort. It was wrong, of course, but it left him almost excited to watch, feeling a rush of adrenaline every time Robert casually walked through the events his life revolved around, unconcerned with whatever thoughts about him anyone else might have. As if they didn’t matter. As if there was so much more out there.

He was shocked when Robert told him he had never sailed before – in Joseph’s opinion, he’d be very good at it.

 

* * *

 

The raspy voice. “Joseph?”

“Uh, what?

The dark eyes. “What do you want?”

“Wha- Nothing, Rob.”

That _smile._ “You were staring.”

 

* * *

 

**III. and I'm dying for the rush**

 

Sometimes, he’d spare a portion of the brownies for the bake sale. Not much, just enough for a plate. Because Robert didn’t eat enough, he knew. He couldn’t regulate the man’s diet, of course, but he could at least try to make sure he had something other than a liquid dinner from time to time.

Robert liked the brownies. He wouldn’t admit it, but he never returned him anything other than a clean plate, and Joseph saw the way he eyed them at the sale. It made him think of Chris’s eager look while he was baking, right before he asked if he could lick the spoon. It was almost childish, and Joseph couldn’t help but smile. Robert was the most ridiculous person he knew. He imagined him during a hangover avoiding the brownies on his table until his stomach was growling in protest and felt a wave of affection overcome him. He was so ridiculous and strange and stubborn. He would probably take them to his latest attempt at demon hunting in the hills. Joseph’s smile hurt his cheeks. Because he loved baking, of course. And he loved when people loved his baking. And he loved feeding his friends and Robert was his friend. And he loved… He shook his head and put the batch in the oven.

He put aside the corner pieces for him, every time.

 

* * *

 

“You know” Robert said, resting his hands on the chair behind him. “That’s much farther than I thought we’d go.”

He was standing in front of the bow, looking up. His hair was still damp from the few waves they passed through earlier, a few grey streaks standing out on his forehead. He looked peaceful and happy in a way Joseph didn’t remember seeing him before. The moon was bright above them and the smell of the ocean mixed with the night breeze. Standing there beneath the early night sky, Robert seemed to fit in perfectly, almost gracefully. He stood in the front of Joseph’s boat as if he was always meant to be there. It made his heart ache.

He was going to be late for dinner.

Robert looked back at him, waiting for an answer. Joseph felt his cheeks warm, trying to remember what he had said. He was doing this too often lately.

“…With the boat.” Robert helped, a slight smile on his lips. “You know, because you talked so much about not being able to go far. I kind of imagined you’d want to sunbathe at the docks or something.”

Joseph smiled, rolling his eyes. They had taken a marginally longer leap around the coast than he was used to. It wasn’t much, but it was still better than nothing. “Next time, I will take you to see some whales.”

“Better not. My last run-in with a whale didn’t end up well for anyone – for me, for her or for the United States Coast Guard.” He stared at Joseph unblinking. “Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can still hear their screams.”

Joseph laughed. Robert attempted to remain serious, but he was smiling, too.

He had smiled so much during that afternoon. He had the most gorgeous smile Joseph had ever seen.

He swallowed hard.

“Anyway, we should probably turn back” He said, looking back at the coast. Then he felt a warm, subtle touch on his shoulder - Robert’s hand.

“Do you want to get back now?” He asked, soft, almost whispering, an innocent question, as if he couldn’t feel Joseph whole body waking up at his touch. Maybe he couldn’t, Joseph thought, pathetically. Maybe he wasn’t even aware of how much he was burning up inside. Robert was a single man with normal desires and no attachments – maybe it didn’t feel like he could die like this, because of the warm of someone’s hand. And yet to Joseph it felt like his heart was going to stop at any moment, right there, trying to not look at Robert, trying to not acknowledge the question floating between the two of them. They were at arm’s length and yet he could feel his presence, his skin, his gaze, crawling inside of him and taking over his soul like the sermons warned him the Devil could do.

But nothing about Robert felt harmful or dangerous – terrifying, yes, but that good, incredibly amazing type of terrifying eagerness you could get before the drop of a rollercoaster, the kind of fear that made you feel _alive_. Joseph could listen to Robert’s breath behind him and feel the air on his own lungs sharpen as the smell of the ocean mixed with the man’s scent – and he was closer to him, now, before he even realized it. He could see his olive skin in the moonlight, and he felt Robert’s hand move to his shoulder to touch his face, still softly, still giving him the time to slap it away and ask _what in the world was he doing_. But they were doing it, together, almost on a trance, and now Joseph was turned towards him and he wanted to drown on his face, to suffocate on smell of his hair and follow through his own path to Hell traced on Robert’s smile wrinkles. It felt like seeing the sea for the very first time, and Joseph stuttered, scared of saying the wrong thing and breaking the spell, scared of everything else in the world around them. Robert cupped his cheek and waited, and Joseph noticed his fingers shaking, and maybe he _could_ feel it after all, maybe he knew and he wasn’t alone and maybe he could want Joseph just an ounce as much as Joseph wanted him.

He traced his face and touched his lips, so lightly, and Joseph forgot how to breathe and think and exist in anywhere other than the touch of Robert’s fingers, so hesitant and still shaking with eagerness. Joseph watch him trace his mouth and smiled slightly, because Robert’s face was flushing, and because if he was going to die there it was nice to know he wasn’t dying alone.

“I-I… I don’t… Robert.” He mumbled, almost laughing when Robert stopped abruptly. He grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, their foreheads touching, keeping his eyes open to stare into Robert’s dark orbs to whisper, more certain than he had ever been of anything else, in his entire life: “I don’t want to go back.”

Robert smiled against his skin, that unbelievably happy smile crushing what was left of Joseph’s heart, then pressed his mouth against his, and, just like that, the world was over.

 

* * *

 

(It hurt, the way he kissed – it was too rough and clumsy and eager, sucking his lips like he needed to, burying his mouth on his neck with licks and pecks and not-so-delicate bites. They tripped twice on their way to the cabin, falling onto the bed like a couple of teenagers. Joseph’s back hurt, but he was laughing too hard to notice, mocking Robert about the condom on his jacket’s pocket, covering his face with kisses when he tried to disguise his flushed cheeks. Robert’s breath smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and warm, sunlit days. He bit Joseph’s shoulder almost too hard, his tongue tracing the anchor as if to savor it. He spit on his hand and started prepping himself, legs spread around Joseph’s lap, moaning and trembling so hard Joseph thought he wouldn’t make it. Robert smirked at his look, leaning forward and kissing him hard and messily, mumbling reassuring words even though Joseph could feel him shaking, could feel his heartbeat against his own chest, could tell he was already holding it as much as he was. He guided Joseph inside of him way too quickly, letting out a few pain noises as they adjusted, Joseph’s hands moving up his thighs, feeling his skin burning beneath his fingertips, forgetting where and who they were. It was so fast, and so messy, and Robert came a few moments afterwards, out of breath, crumbling into him and holding his body close. Joseph fell on his back and they rolled in the bed together, laughing as the frame made a creaking noise at their combined weight. They were old and awful and pathetic and there was still a world out there, in the end, waiting for when they would have to come out of that room.

Robert nuzzled against his neck, smiling softly – sweaty, breathless, perfect. Joseph watched as he intertwined their fingers and wanted to cry.)

 

* * *

 

**IV. 'cause my heart ain't got enough**

 

“Good morning.”

Joseph jumped, dropping the cereal box in the table. He wasn’t used to hearing her voice in the morning. Through the day, they talked, or, more accurately, traded phrases when it was strictly necessary - or when she felt like snipping at him and he felt like she was too irresponsible and the polite sentences quickly turned into frustrated screams. Lately, though, that wasn’t as common as it used to be. He altered between feeling so guilty he couldn’t look at her or feeling so happy he couldn’t even remember to. Either way, he was not talking to Mary enough for them to even fight anymore.

“Good morning”, he said, rushing to get the cereal back to the plate. Mercifully, Mary ignored his nervous tone, walking to the counter to get her coffee.

She liked it black with no sugar, Joseph knew, and felt a pang of sadness for remembering that small detail. Then, he felt a pang of guilt for not having thought to make some for her.

_Well, she never wakes up so early,_ he thought, defensively. Neither did Robert, though, and he never forgot to leave some breakfast ready on his table, sometimes even with a note.

There were a few moments of silence as Mary made her coffee. She took a sip, her brown eyes finding his.

She deserved better, he thought.

“Here, let me wash this for you” Joseph said, quickly taking the coffee mug out of her hands as she finished. She let out a short, humorless laugh.

Joseph didn’t turn his head. He washed the mug in the sink, carefully scrubbing the bottom of it to make sure it was perfectly clean. He could feel Mary’s eyes watching him quietly.

He never did Robert’s dishes, he thought. At least there was that.

Her voice cut the silence between them like a knife: “You know, I…”

Joseph froze abruptly, rinsing the soap off the coffee mug. He wasn’t used to hearing _hurt_ in her voice at any time of the day.

He listened as she took a deep breath behind him, and felt the air vanish from his own lungs. That could be the end of the line, he thought. When she opened her mouth again, with just a few words, their future could crumble in front of their eyes. Joseph clung to the coffee mug on his hand as if it were his own life slipping away from his fingers. Maybe Mary also felt dizzy, he imagined, maybe she, too, felt that suicidal urge to ruin their lives burning in her own chest as well. Maybe she, unlike him, was brave enough to do it in the daylight.

She took another breath. He held the coffee mug so hard his hand hurt.

Then – nothing.

He could hear her tiny, muffled sobs behind him. She didn’t want him to listen, though, so he pretended he didn’t. The least he could do was respect her pride.

He heard laughing and talking noises coming from the top of the stairwell. Christian and Christie climbed down, jumping steps and racing each other, while Chris walked behind them. Crish was soon going to start crying in his crib. A regular morning in the Christiansen household.

Mary turned around to talk to the kids. She was good at composing herself when she wanted to, Joseph thought. He thought he could see a slight redness in her eyes, but nothing noticeable. They circled the table, altering between calming the twins down and attempting to convince Chris to finish his eggs. In the rare times where she was sober, Mary could be a valuable help. Serving cereal, feeding Crish, wiping away a stain of syrup Christie spilled on the table – they did work well together, when they weren’t talking to each other. The kids had a nice breakfast. Her eyes didn’t meet his once.

 

* * *

 

He wanted to stop it, he really did. He did it a thousand times on his head, planning it carefully, thinking of what to say and how. He wanted to find the right words to make Robert understand. Joseph hated hurting others. That didn’t mean he didn’t do it, however; in fact, apparently, it meant he did it often. It meant that he woke up every morning and avoided his wife’s face and felt his heart beat faster at the sound of his neighbor’s voice. And every time they kissed he planned again, word for word, how he would break Robert’s heart, throw away every bit of trust he had in him, fix their mistake by saving himself. Afterwards, in bed, he’d look at the ceiling and think about the words “until death do us part” and the admired look on Chris’s face whenever he’d finish a sermon. He sat up straight, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath before turning to look at him.

Robert never looked away, not even once. His dark eyes met Joseph’s with that eternal silent defiance, waiting, almost challenging him to say something – but between the sheets Joseph could feel his body tensing up, preparing for the punch, so willing and ready to get hurt it broke his heart. He was lonely and sad and the most beautiful man Joseph had ever known. The more he waited for him to leave, the more he wanted to bury his face in his neck and promise to stay forever, watching the way those eyes lit up with that disbelieving wonder that almost made him want to be telling the truth.

 

* * *

 

He prayed. Every night, without fail. He’d lay in bed, join his hands together, and whisper to God – for his neighbors, for the youths at the church, for Mary. For Robert. He would clutch his hands together, shut his eyes and ask for God’s light, for His guidance. He asked for strength to do the right thing, to redeem himself and fix the mess they had made.

(Most of the times, Robert was lying right by his side. Joseph’s heart soared at the smell of his hair on his pillow, the warmth of his skin against his, almost wanting it was possible neither of them had to ever wake up. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper, careful, not wanting him to see his hands shaking.)

He prayed for his children the most. Every night, the same prayers, for every single one of them. For them to grow up healthy; for them to learn to care and love for each other; for them to become happy, fulfilled, good human beings.

For none of them to end up anything like their father, ever. He felt like God owed him that much.

 

* * *

 

Robert didn’t own a coffee mug. He didn’t own any real dishes, just a bunch of disposable plates and cups he always forgot to repurchase and ended up reusing without even washing properly. His kitchen was probably somber and dirtier than the town’s cemetery – no wonder he preferred to spend his time there.

He laughed when Joseph said that; not his usual sarcastic scoff, but a honest, full, happy laugh. Robert rarely laughed, even when he was making fun of people. He made up the most absurd stories and told them without cracking a smile. Joseph fell for so many of those tales in the beginning that it was impossible to take it seriously anymore, and yet Robert kept trying to fool him with them, laughing when he rolled his eyes, smiling like a kid when Joseph tried to make up his own versions. He hated small talk but loved a silly banter, arguing with him about movies, gardening, or any other random topic for hours. He would talk and talk, and then he could spend hours in silence comfortably, usually resting his head in Joseph’s shoulder, smoking a cigar and dropping the ashes on the sheets like it was no big deal.

He didn’t talk to Val anymore. He never talked about her, either, even though he had to know Joseph wanted to ask. He held his tongue every time, though. He didn’t want to push Robert with something he didn’t trust him with.

He loved drinking. He was an alcoholic, without a doubt – a high functioning one, sure, but still. He smelled like whiskey and most nights he didn’t spend with Joseph were spent at Jim and Kim’s. Sometimes, Joseph found him at his own door early in the morning, snoring loudly, because he had forgotten his keys somewhere. He lost his keys often, and no one in the neighborhood had a copy. Joseph scolded him for that a lot, because how irresponsible could you be, really, and then one day he just handed him one, right before turning around to get dressed, without saying a word. Joseph hugged him by the waist and whispered “Thanks”, kissing his shoulder.

He felt him shivering. He shivered a lot.

He lived alone and spend most of his time alone. He was lonely, Joseph knew, in the middle of his world of whiskey bottles and classic movies and a bed he used as an ashtray. He didn’t own a _coffee mug_. He spend a lot of his nights ghost hunting. He was like a fantasy right out of a poorly written romance for teenagers, in all his screwed up coolness. He was pathetic and sad, and impulsive and passionate and wonderful, and Joseph wanted to make breakfast for him for the rest of their days. He wanted the keys to his home and wanted him on _his_ home and _his_ bed, waking up to his alarm to get the house chores ready before he was headed for church. He wanted to hold his hand at a Sunday service, take him to the open sea in the afternoon, find an amazing island with lots of creepy spiritual legends he’d want to go after. He wanted to watch the rest of his hair turn grey, to ask about Val, to tell him about Crish’s first word. He thought the world had ended on that night in the boat when they doomed themselves, but in the end it was still there, and a crazy, stupid part of him couldn’t stop thinking and wondering if maybe it was there for a reason, and maybe it wouldn’t mind if they dared to exist in it together.

He wasn’t twenty-one anymore, though. He already knew the answer to that question.

 

* * *

 

“Robert?”

“Yeah?”

He looked at him straight in the eyes. “I think you know what I’m about to say.”

Robert’s body tensed up by his side, his skin _almost_ touching his, irradiating so much warm Joseph could almost feel it.

Still, he didn’t look away. The dark eyes stared at him unblinking. He wouldn’t cry, Joseph knew, even if the effort killed him.

“I know.”

And, for Joseph, at least, it felt like it could kill. He was definitely about to murder something that night. The laughs, the touches, the kisses, the whispered talks in his boat’s cabin – a bunch of things that should never have existed in the first place, about to fade forever in those next few moments.

He looked at Robert, though, and, instead of murder, he felt like dying – he felt the weight of the world they had destroyed that night in the yatch on his shoulders, crushing him. They didn’t have enough power to destroy a world, Joseph knew, not even together. They were both too weak, too miserable, too tempted by the easiness with which they could melt into each other’s body and forget about all of that for a night or two.

But they couldn’t. Not forever, not anymore. Not with Robert’s dark eyes looking at him like he didn’t even knew it was possible to look at someone else – not with his silly bizarre stories, his whiskey-filled breath and his disposable dishes. Each time they melted, they merged in a way Joseph imagined the sky melded with the ocean in the horizon – except they didn’t, that was an optical illusion, and so was the thought he could just avoid this until a miracle happened, until one day he just woke up and Robert’s touch didn’t feel like it could burn through his skin even when they accidentally bumped into each other in the middle of a barbecue.

And Robert knew it, was waiting for it since the first moment, and Joseph felt his heart ache for him, like it could rip his body apart from the inside just to hold Robert against him and hear that raspy laugh again.

But they both knew – it was time.

Joseph leaned forward, his eyes never leaving his because he owed him at least that, mouth half-open to murder both of them, right there, at Robert’s bed, and he send a silent prayer for God to be with him in those final moments, to fill him with the strength he needed to follow the right path once and for all.

The words came out seamlessly, easy, _right_ : “I love you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> so. yeah. this is the first part of a three-part series, each time with a different pov from this lovely fucked up trio - because they all deserved better and this is my feeble attempt to give them that. all the titles of each section and chapter come from here: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEG-2WhISUQ)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed reading! i'd love to hear your thoughts about it. and if you want to, you can find me at my tumblr: [x](http://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/)


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